Ice Cream
by opheliathedreamer
Summary: It's a bit odd. Based off of a SH rpg I'm in.
1. Default Chapter

NOTE:  This is a story based off of a Silent Hill table top rpg I'm in.  Don't hate me 'cause it's not Harry and James and Heather.  Douggie makes an appearance, though, and I love Douggie.

Disclaimer:  I don't own Silent Hill, Douglas Cartland, or any of that good junk.  You all know who does.  Don't sue.  XP

Okay, here's the first session.  I'm going to write it in story form to make it easier to read, and cut out the human expressions....Heh.

*******************

Paul Matherson sat at his kitchen table, staring out the small window.  Things had changed a lot since he and Janna had gotten divorced.  After all, look at the shithole apartment he now lived it.  He sighed and rested his chin in his palm, pondering the turns his life had taken.  He was thirty-one years old, in a dead-end job, with no one to really call family anymore.

The phone rang, startling him out of his self-depriciating thoughts, and he rose from the rickety chair and picked up the reciever.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Paulie?"  It was a young girl's voice.  His niece, Ann.  "Watcha doin'?"

"Give me that phone, young lady."  There was silence as the phone on the other end switched owners.  "Paul?  It's Marsha.  You're still coming this weekend, aren't you?"

"This weekend?"  Paul's mouth pulled downward into a puzzled frown.  What was his sister-in-law talking about?

"You know, silly.  You promised you come and visit us this weekend.  You're so forgetful, just like your brother Dave was...Anyway, you're going to love Silent Hill.  It's such a peaceful little town."  

Paul sat, silent, for just a moment.  "Sure thing.  I'll be there.  Give Ann a hug from me, k?"  With that, he hung up the phone and glanced at the refrigerator.  Sure enough, there was a note, reminding him of his impending trip to Silent Hill.  He shook his head.  He really couldn't remember anything anymore. 

He moved to the livingroom and sat on the battered couch, picking up his anthology of H.P. Lovecraft short stories, opening it to the dog-eared page.  

*****************************

The next morning, Paul rose from his bed, bleary-eyed with sleep.  He moved through his morning ritual like an automaton, and soon found himself parking in the lot of the car repair shop at which he worked.  Shippey Auto Repair.  He hated coming to this place now, knowing his boss was his ex-wife's father.  It only made the divorce that much harder.

He got out of the car and made his way into the garage, preparing to get to work, when Ed Shippey stuck his head out of his office.

"Paul.  Come here, kid.  We gotta talk."

With a mounting sense of apprehesion, Paul entered the office and faced Ed, a lump in his throat.  This couldn't be good.

"Uh, I like you a lot, kid, but I gotta be honest with ya.  You're a good mechanic, but..."  Here Ed cleared his throat.  "You gotta find another job.  I don't wanna do it, but I can't have you here, with you being my daughter's ex-husband.  I mean, what's between you and Janna is between you two, but....I gotta keep the friction down."

Paul was stunned.  He'd just gotten canned from his job of seven years because of his divorce.  He realized he couldn't move his mouth, couldn't move anything, and he just stared at Ed.  Ed shifted uncomfortably and averted his eyes from Paul's face.

"There's no hard feelings, are there, kid?"

Paul, regaining the use of his voice and body, shook his head.  "Of course not, Ed.  No problem.  I may be moving out of town, anyway."

Ed nodded.  "Well, I better let you get back to work.  There's some guy out there who needs some work done.  Go take a look at it and help him out."  Paul nodded and headed out of the door, when Ed called him back.  "You still going to Silent Hill Friday?"

"Yeah."

*****************************

The man was in his late fifties, sporting a trenchcoat and fedora.  His hair and well-trimmed, short beard were salt-and-pepper.  His car was a nondescript Chrysler.

"What seems to be the problem?"

The man turned and gave Paul a quick once over.  "Oh!  Well, when I hit about fifty-five it starts to shake real bad."

Paul bent to peer under the back end of the car and frowned.  The tires weren't aligned properly and the right back tire needed replacing badly.  "Well, you're car needs to be straightened a bit, and that tire looks like it needs replacing."

"How long's that gonna take?  I kinda need to get out of here."

"'Bout an hour."

"Alright."  The man started to walk away and then suddenly turned.  "Hey, do you guys sell maps?  I need to find my way to Silent Hill."

Paul shook his head.  "No, but the gas station across the street does."

"Hey, thanks a lot."  With that the man headed across the street and disappeared into the dingy little service station.  Paul sighed and went to work on the car.

***********************************

An hour later, the man came back, map and coffee in hand.  "You're done already?"

"Sure thing.  That'll be seventy-five sixty-two."  He waited while the man wrote a check and then took it, unobtrusively scanning it.  Douglas Cartland.  Why did that name sound so familiar?

"Well, thanks a lot, kid.  I hope I don't have to see you soon."  The man known as Douglas Cartland got into his car and drove away, headed north on the little highway.

********************************

8:00pm.  He had finished dinner and watched a little tv, and was packing his clothes for his trip to Silent Hill.  As he straightened the things in his suitcase, a crackling noise behind him pulled his mind out of his thoughts, and he moved into the closet, searching for it's source.  A few moments later, he came out with his old pocket radio.

.......*crackle hiss* HE...*crackle crackle*  the....al.......ad....*hiss hiss crackle*

Paul shook the radio and checked the batteries, wondering what was wrong with it.  But, once the batteries had been replaced, he found he could tune the radio, as he hadn't before.  He contemplated throwing it back into the closet, but the strange urge that he might need it caused him to pause, and instead he threw it into his suitcase.

As he was making his way back into the kitchen, the phone rang, and he picked it up with a slight sense of annoyance.

"Hello."

"Paul?  This is Janna."  Paul inwardly groaned.  No, not now.

"What?"

"Have you seen our honeymoon pictures?  I can't find them."  Her voice was sharp, and he inwardly winced.

"No.  I have no idea where they are."

"Figures.  You can't ever remember anything.  That's-"  Paul quietly set the phone into its cradle and shook his head.  What he didn't need right then was a fight.

He moved about in the small kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator, when the phone rang again.  He growled and yanked the receiver out of its cradle.

"What the fuck do you want now?"

Instead of an angry Janna, there was music, and it reminded him of the tune icecream trucks played as they drove up and down the streets, stopping for kids who had their pocket change waiting.  Then, eerily, a pleasant but hollow voice began chanting, "I scream, you scream, we all scream for icecream".

"Paul Matherson?"  It was the same hollow voice.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Congradulations!  You've won an all-expense paid trip to the resort of Silent Hill!"

For a moment, Paul shook his head, the only thing he could say being, "But I'm already going to Silent Hill."

The voice took on a slightly more sinister tone.  "Then we look forward to seeing you."

The connection was cut, and Paul could hear the beeping.  He hung the phone up once more and moved to his favorite chair in this dingy little apartment, twisting the cap off of his beer.  He became lulled by the inane sitcom on the tv, and soon fell into a dose.

An hour later, he awoke with a start, certain someone was there.  He glanced around the apartment, but there was no one.  He noticed his empty beer bottle, still clutched in his hand, and he rose to take it to the trash can.  The minute he hit the threshold of the kitchen, a searing pain streaked through his head, and the bottle went crashing to the floor.  It was all he could do to keep from passing out.

Then the phone began ringing.  Again.  He stumbled to it, lifting the reciever.

"Hell-"

"GO TO HELL WITH US!!!"  The voice was incredibly loud, and he dropped the receiver.  Groping, he found it lying on the linoleum, and managed to replace it in its cradle.  Then he slumped into a kitchen chair.  The walls looked like they were melting, and it felt as though forty air raid sirens were going off right next to his eardrums.  He shut his eyes, willing for the pain to pass.

Then, as quickly as it started, the pain stopped.  Paul opened his eyes once more, expecting to find melting walls, but everything looked as it should.  Ignoring the broken glass on the floor, he made his way to his bedroom, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

*************************************

The next morning, Paul got up and got a quick shower, washing the feeling of uneasiness still lingering from the night before.  He wrapped a towel around himself and started to shave in front of the medicine cabinet, when a soft voice whispered from somewhere behind him.  He didn't catch all of the words, but it sounded like "You're going to die".

He turned and scanned the hallway through the open door, but there was nothing.  He shrugged and went back to shaving, when it happened again.  "Suffer the weak."

Paul, now finished with his shaving, quickly moved to his bedroom and donned his clothes.  What the hell was going on?

The white noise started again, this time in his suitcase, and Paul pulled the little radio out, shaking it.  The noise stopped, and on impulse he stuck the radio in his pocket.

********************************

An hour onto the road, Paul realized he had no idea where Silent Hill was.  A few moments after this thought, he spotted a roadside diner up ahead, and quickly pulled in.  Maybe they had maps.

The bells on the door jingled as he entered the tiny diner, and the woman behind the counter gave him a quick smile.  "Can I get you something, honey?"

"Uh...Do you have maps?  I'm trying to find my way to Silent Hill."

"Sure, right over there on that rack," she said pointing behind him.  "Anything else I can get you?"

"Coffee, if you please, ma'am."  He turned from her and began flipping through the maps, finally finding one with Silent Hill.  He was amazed at how quickly he'd spotted the small town on the map.  He was usually really bad at reading them.  It was almost as if he were meant to go there.  Shaking that thought aside, he grabbed up the map and moved to the table where the waitress had set his coffee.  

"So, where you headed, hun?"

"Huh?  Oh, Silent Hill.  I'm going to visit my sister-in-law."

"That's right sweet of you.  I'm Sue.  What's your name, sweets?"

Paul raised an eyebrow.  "Paul."

"How's your brother?  What's he doing now?"

Paul paused at that.  This woman didn't know him.  How did she know he had a brother.  A brother that was dead.  He ignored her question and went back to perusing the map.

"Can I get you some pie?"

"What do you have?"

"Well," she said, ticking them off on her fingers, "cherry, apple, mint-"

"Mint?"  Paul made a face, and the waitress laughed.  

"Well, the cook likes it.  Oh, and chocolate."

"I'll take some chocolate."

***********************************

Four hours later, he spotted a sign that said "Silent Hill 5 Miles", and had the most nagging desire to pull into the gas station on his right.  Giving in, after looking at his gas gauge, he filled his car up and entered the little quicky mart, which was manned by a little skinny guy who looked to be all pimples and glasses.  He stepped up the the counter and pulled out his wallet, and the kid gave him a smartass smirk.

"You need a map of Silent Hill?"

"Wha-  How'd you know I was headed there?"

"Nobody but locals ever stop here unless they're going to Silent Hill.  Besides, the maps are complementary."

"Sure."  Paul handed over the money for his gas and took the map.  

"Where're ya going in Silent Hill?"  Paul glanced up, confused.  "Well, I'll mark it on your map."  Paul told the kid the street name, and he marked it with a red marker.  "There ya go.  You have fun in town, now."

"Sure thing.  Thanks a lot."

***************************

One thing Paul noticed about Silent Hill was the fact that there were very few people moving about on the streets.  That, and the fog was thick and heavy.  He found his sister-in-law's house with ease, but as soon as he pulled into her driveway, the radio in his pocket started going haywire.  He shook it, and it stopped, and he left the car, headed for the door.  Thankfully she had left the light on.  If not, he might have never found the door.  He knocked, and the door was flung open and a small girl with jet-black pigtails barrelled out of the door.

"Uncle Paulie!"  She flung her arms around him, giving him a warm wet kiss on the cheek.

*****************************************

That was it.  It's driving me nuts!!!  I want to know what happens!


	2. Part One Of Two

Here ya go, session two.

**********************

Paul patted Ann on the head as he pulled away, a grin tugging at his mouth.  "Hey, Little Bit.  Glad to know you're excited to see me."

"C'mon!  Mom's got dinner ready."  Ann grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house, and immediately he was assaulted by the smells of homecooked food.  His stomach growled, reminding him that the only meal he had consummed that day was an overly-sweet piece of chocolate pie.

Ann tugged harder, dragging him into the kitchen.  He went along with it, partly because he loved her more than life, and partly because this child had been wounded by her father's death, and he knew that he had to step in and fill the void left in her heart.

"Paul, I'm glad you made it alright."  Paul turned and spotted Marsha standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking tired but beautiful.  "Hope you're hungry.  We've got a whole pot roast to get rid of."  Her eyes twinkled with mischief, as she knew that that was his favorite.

"Sure."

"Well, go on and sit down.  We were waiting to eat until you got here."

*******************

The meal was one of the best Paul had had in a while, considering his new idea of haute cuisine was frozed tv dinners, and he only slowed on his third helping of everything.  All the while, Ann had been chattering away about this or that, and he half listened most of the time.  

"Uncle Paulie?"  He glanced up at her over his glass, and she gave him the puppy-dog eyes.  "Will you walk me to school in the morning?"

"Sure thing," he said, setting his glass back down.  She smiled and jumped up to give him a tight hug, after which she rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"I'm gonna go to bed.  See you in the morning, Uncle Paulie."  With that, she skipped out of the kitchen, leaving Paul and her mother to really talk.

"You don't have to, you know.  She's perfectly capable of walking by herself."

"I know," Paul said, a sad smile tugging his mouth, "but I want to.  It's no trouble, really."

"You're such a good man, Paul.  It's a shame Janna couldn't see that."  She gave him a peck on the cheek.  "Well, I'm tired, too, so do you want the couch or the bed?"

"I'll take the couch, there's no way I'm kicking you out of your own bed."

"Alright, then, tough guy.  Sleep tight.  I'll lay out all of stuff for you."

***********************

Paul pulled off his boots, feeling achy in every muscle.  Six hours was a long way to drive in one day.  He sighed and stood, about to unbutton his fly, when it started again.  This time, his head felt like it was impaled on a meat hook, and before he knew it, the floor was rising to greet him.

***********************

4 AM.  Jesus, still such a long time before he had to walk Ann to school.  With a groan, he forced himself to his feet, realizing he had a dire urge to piss.  He stumbled to the bathroom and undid his fly, breathing a sigh of relief as the thick stream of yellow liquid hit the porcelin bowl.  He shook and zipped his pants, and his ears pricked at the sound of white noise coming from the living room.  That damn radio.  He should have just left it at home.  

Then there was the noise outside of bathroom door.  He turned and looked, but could see nothing through the crack, and for some, unexplainable reason, felt his heart speed up.  He moved slowly and quietly to the door and then flung it open, attempting to surprise whoever was behind it.  But, instead of Ann or Marsha, or even a would-be thief, what stood beyond the doorframe caused Paul to question his sanity.

It stood seven or eight inches taller than him, it's apparel a bloody, filthy butcher's apron.  Three fingered latex gloves covered it's hands, and black boots it's feet.  It carried, Jesus Christ, a spear.  But that wasn't the disturbing part.  No, it wasn't the blood smears that stained it's garment or skin.  It wasn't it's archaic weaponry.  It was it's mask.  It was in the shape of a pyramid, and appeared to be covered with some kind of metal.  But instead of paint, it was covered in what looked like layers of gooey and congealing blood.

For all practical purposes, it appeared as though this creature was looking at him, and for a moment, all Paul could do was stare back.  

"What the fu-"  Before he could get the sentence out of his mouth, the creature raised its spear and drove it home, and Paul felt and heard his own flesh tearing as the sharp point drove through soft tissue and separated hard bone.  He found himself pinned by the spear, up on the wall, his body racked with pain as blood from numerous internal injuries gushed up and out of his mouth, dribbling in little rivers down his chin and chest, coming to pool beneath his dangling feet.  Out of the haze of pain, Paul saw the creature reach up and touch it's mask, before pulling a gristly tool from it's waist band.  A meat hook.  How appropriate.  All Paul could do was give a choked scream as the meat hook decended toward his head.

*************************

Okay, that's all you get of session two for the moment.  I'm gonna have to do it in parts, because it was about a three hour session.


End file.
